Reacquaintance
by tami3
Summary: Riddel hasn't seen Dario for a long time, and now she's meeting him under completely different circumstances. She's the same she's ever been, but now he's orphaned and poor. Still, she doesn't want to stay away... Sort-of sequel to kid's games.


Reacquaintance  
By tami  
  
Riddel knocked in her timid, unintrusive way on the stout door of the homey cabin. As she scraped the fine skin of her knuckles against the wood in a series of brief taps, Riddel slipped a length of her indigo hair further back anxiously with her free hand, even though it had been in it's proper place before.  
  
She had worn her hair in a simple fashion that was a favorite among the ordinary girls of Termina, pulled away from the face with a cloth tie. It felt unnaturally comfortable compared to the teased and sprayed hairdos that she was used to balancing on her head, but this wasn't a formal party. She was visiting a pair of boys who, despite their noble lineage, lived as humbly as the people whose modest homes lined this unremarkable street.  
  
Riddel took her hand away from the graying weather-beaten planks, realizing that she had been knocking for a solid half-minute. A soft flush of mortification tinged her marble-sculpted cheeks, even though she knew well that no one had seen her gazing off into space, her head tilted to one side, as she had done it. In any case, it wouldn't have damaged her reputation of the intelligent little lady of the manor; she wasn't wearing the elaborate attire she usually donned while she strolled in its sandstone halls, weaving in and out of the pillars in a solitary game of tag.  
  
Today, she had wanted Dario to think of her as one of the brawny active girls that he was used to socializing and learning with at his public school. It was a pristine white building with a prim, orderly exterior and dozens of rowdy hyperactive youngsters in its interior throwing wads of paper at each other. It was a very different place from where Riddel was taught, a drafty study with entire volumes of books jammed into the shelves, but were so boring that a liberal coat of dust had discolored their jackets from a lack of readers. She was also taught alone with no peers. The last time she had seen Dario it had been a glance at afar out in the streets, Riddel accompanied by her own regimen of guards, Dario by a flock of his friends, including both boys and girls.  
  
Right now Riddel was wearing a drab little number, her favorite among the five sets of play clothes that had been whipped together only a week ago at her request. It was a knee-length skirt whose dark color complimented the lapis lazuli threads of her hair and royal purple eyes, accompanied by a white blouse with a high blue ribbon waistline. On her feet she had slipped on chunky hard boots, appropriately scuffed and with fuzzy shoelaces that had caught on her manicured nails when she had tied them. It was only a loan, from one of the maids of the manor that could pass as something of a constantly occupied friend, but it was the first pair of shoes Riddel had ever worn that didn't have stain lining and padded soles. (Unless you counted the gray doeskin-riding boots, tallowed every night by servants to the state of pure comfort.)  
  
They chaffed at her lotioned skin and from the feel of it, left blisters on her ankles, despite the fact that she was wearing socks. (Albeit very finely woven ones.) That was her punishment for insisting that she walk to Dario's house rather than be escorted to it astride one of her attendant's dragons, after they had left her at the city entrance at her request. But well... She hadn't wanted for Dario to think that she was ignorantly trying to imitate civilian life by dressing herself normally and then driving up to his doorstep with a legion of her father's uniformed employees. That would just look snotty, completely stupid on her part, and would have made him regard her as an authority figure trying to make up for her age with status. But the raw, itchy pain permeating every square inch of her heels made her regret not taking up the offer to ride at least so far as a few streets away. What was the use of talking to Dario anyway if all she could do was nod and smile, investing all efforts into not peeling off her shoes to see if she was bleeding down there and scratch to her heart's content?  
  
She glanced discreetly at the area around her, her dark eyes feeding her a most relieving image of an empty street with not a soul in sight. The maddening sensation of tortured toes crept up her stockings, up her waist, to an agitating tingle in her fingers. As no one would see her or recognize her if they did, it wouldn't be unreasonable if she was to . . .  
  
What if Dario were to see?  
  
Riddel estimated the amount of time spanning the point where she had knocked on the door until the present. Probably 3 or 4 minutes, unless she missed her guess. Well, crush or not, she had given enough time for that boy to receive his guest, and it was safe to assume that he was out and therefore not able to peep out from between curtains and see her prodding her unattractively withered feet.  
  
She sat down on a splintery step and was on the verge of unlacing the worn footwear when a horrifying realization struck her.  
  
She had no way of getting home.  
  
She dismissed that deduction with a promise to herself that she'd manage to walk. If she took her shoes off now and let the abused skin breathe before it melted to a sticky stump.  
  
She undid the knots that her maid had tied for her (Stupid as it sounded, Riddel had never learned to tie shoelaces. All of her slippers were secured with complex systems of ornate clasps or cameo buttons.) and tugged on the rubber heel. It was an actual fight for her. The amorphous material had somehow molded itself to her shape, and it would have been easier to pull a suction cup off than the obstinate boots.  
  
Finally, with an unpleasant "schulking" sound, Riddel managed to extricate herself from the dank depths of the clingy shoes. Stripping off the socks that turned inside out as she did so, a pair of worryingly pink-mottled feet greeted the revitalizing air with an involuntary twitch. Thankfully, they were not, as Riddel had feared, encrusted with a layer of white pustules, or rubbed to the point of raw bleeding. They did seem woefully out of place, dainty and delicate, when held up against the rough terrain of the boy's front yard.  
  
Riddle immediately commenced massaging the sickly appendages, nervously flicking off bits of imaginary filth she saw. She never had had her feet exposed in public before. Never very often at home either, unless she was sleeping or was sticking them in the luxury of water scented with floral bath oils. After having circulation encouraged, they took on a bit of a healthier tone, but Riddel noted, wryly, that they seemed too undersized and frail to stabilize even her petite body. She really was such a soft rich kid.  
  
And until this afternoon, damned proud of it.  
  
That was when an airborne red blob burst a deluge of wetness over her face.  
  
Riddel fell flat on her back and spluttered in indignant surprise, a mouthful of water and bits of colored latex gushing out of her mouth. She shot straight back up with a stinging forehead, ready to scream bloody murder at whoever had lobbed a water balloon at the innocent civilian who simply had been administering care to her pained feet.  
  
"Sorry, miss!"  
  
A soaked blond hellion that had been magically summoned out of nowhere dove straight onto Riddel's sodden lap, curling his chubby fingers around her thick, dripping locks and yanking them down to eye level. Riddel felt her scalp explode into a wave of burning irritation even as her neck jerked downwards unexpectedly. She tried to right herself up again, only to have the mystery child enthusiastically tug her back down again.  
  
"W-what do you think you're doing?!"  
  
The plump toddler, who had forced Riddel's head at an odd angle upon her neck, cheerfully ignored her yells and wrung out her hair with a silly grin.  
  
"Stop it!" she yelped, frantically attempting to disentangle the energetic stranger's fingers from her previously swept back bangs.  
  
"C'mon, miss, you wanna dry off, don't ya?" he persisted, giving the blackberry tresses another twist.  
  
Riddel squirmed away from him even as she felt someone heft the infantile weight off of her. Panting with surprise, she looked up to see a teenage boy with sun-bleached hair and an expression of annoyance setting her grubby assailant on his feet, who sheepishly kicked out at the dry turf of the lawn.  
  
"Glenn, didn't I tell you to be careful?" he scolded her attacker with a look of stern disapproval.  
  
"Er. . . well, you ducked." Glenn sulked defensively. Seeing the unpromising reaction of indignant disbelief, he swiftly added: "But then, that's the point of the game, isn't it? And um, I didn't mean to hit her. And I'm really sorry and I'll apologize and uh. . ."  
  
Riddel grimly wiped her face on her damp cotton sleeve as she listened to the sandy-haired boy babble nervously to his elder.  
  
The taller one, who shook his head in deliberation, thoughtfully narrowed his eyes and cocked his head at the anxious boy under his scrutiny, rubbing his chin as if contemplating disciplinary measures.  
  
"Oi, Karsh!" he yelled, throwing his head back at another figure a ways back. "What d'ya think? Grounded for two days?"  
  
"Nah, make it an even week. Did you see him pawing her?" A lazy drawl answered him.  
  
Another adolescent male came into view, strikingly noticeable with a thick lavender-hued silver ponytail trailing down his shoulders and back. The tendrils were dull, even under the sun, because they were grayed with water and clung limply to his skin. He was nearly the same height as the other one, only his build was considerably more muscled. And, as Riddel realized with a most unwelcome flush of heat, he was naked down to the waist, wearing only a pair of faded knee-length shorts. He deftly brushed droplets of water off his biceps as he walked towards them.  
  
"Yeah, good point." His friend commented, batting Glenn's shaggy head affectionately. "What were you trying to do anyways?"  
  
"Help her dry off?" he offered meekly.  
  
"Ah. Well, thought it was something stupid like that. Hm, good intentions. . . that's something to consider. Maybe we'll take a day off or two for that."  
  
"Ex-excuse me." Riddel spoke, her voice quiet and shy. "It-it's not like he hurt me or anything like that. It really was just an accident." Not like she knew.  
  
All three of them stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. After a moment, Glenn recovered and mouthed a fervent "thank-you" at her.  
  
"Aw, we weren't really going to punish 'im anyways." Karsh said aloud. "He's always been a bit of a clumsy idiot. There's no helping that." He gave Glenn a patronizing smirk. Glenn stuck his tongue out at him in reply.  
  
"Hey, Karsh, don't call my brother names."  
  
"Why? You think I'm gonna make the lil' baby cry?" Karsh mocked, leaning down and pinching Glenn's rosy cheek.  
  
With a scowl, Glenn belted Karsh in the stomach. Karsh straightened up after saying a word that made Riddel wince.  
  
"No. Cuz I'm afraid he'll make you cry, and I don't want him learning any more words like that."  
  
"Knew that one already!" Glenn chirped.  
  
"What?! Eh. . . well, alright. Just don't say it outside of the house, okay?"  
  
Glenn nodded obediently, solemn and repentant.  
  
"Or in front of my parents." Karsh added. Glenn nodded again.  
  
Riddel meanwhile, was too embarrassed about Karsh's lack of clothing (and possibly the subject) to add anything to the conversation. She tactfully kept her head down and examined the graying wood and rusty nails in silence. It occurred her that she could get tetanus if she wasn't careful.  
  
As if he could read her thoughts, she heard the thinner one address his brawny, lightly clad companion.  
  
"Karsh, can't you see we have company? Put your shirt on."  
  
"I don't know where it is."  
  
There was a sigh of impatience "Your house is right there. Go get another one!"  
  
"Ok, ok. . ."  
  
She waited until the thud of heavy footfall faded away completely before looking up again.  
  
The younger child, Glenn had taken a seat next to her and was eyeing her with a friendly/politely-puzzled expression. He had a thatch of rough, hay- like hair framing his tanned profile and a pair of speckled gray eyes that stood out in his small face like two chunks of unfinished mortar stone. Robust with health like most children were at his age, he was somewhat sturdy, but undeniably physically fit. He was wearing a T-shirt (dark green mottled with the blackness of moisture), sizes too large for him, and tan cut-off pants.  
  
Riddel gave him a baleful smile (which he returned with a much sunnier version) and shifted her attention to the other one.  
  
He was giving her a look reminsicnet of one she already knew . . .  
  
"Holy!" she shrieked. "Dario, IS THAT YOU?!"  
  
He was a lot skinnier than he had appeared at a distance. She remembered that last year Dario hadn't exactly been fat, but he had had a lot more meat on his bones and would have been able to fit the white t-shirt that was hanging loosely on his wiry frame. His face was more angular, with prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw line, which went well with the wry smile he was directing at her.  
  
"Yea, I thought that maybe you didn't recognize me. Have to say you haven't changed a bit." He laughed, planting a firm hand on Glenn's bristly head, who was quizzically staring up at his older brother.  
  
"Guess you don't remember Glenn either."  
  
"I don't know her, Dar" Glenn objected, removing his brother's hand.  
  
"Sure you do. You were formally introduced at dad's funeral "  
  
"I couldn't tell anyone apart." Glenn said, strangely causal. "They were all dressed in black."  
  
"You told me she had a pretty face."  
  
Riddel blushed at the compliment and the mention of the recent tragedy.  
  
"I'm not you, Dario. That doesn't mean that I'd remember her."  
  
Dario cleared his throat and discreetly pinched Glenn's neck. He made a face but didn't even flinch.  
  
"So, Riddel, do you like how I look now or before?  
  
"Um. . ." she murmured uncertainly.  
  
He didn't really look better or worse in any way whatsoever, despite his dramatic change. He still had the same kindly face and arrogant smirk, with a close cut hairstyle and a cheerful disposition. The only actual differences between his former appearance and his new look was, besides the obvious weight loss, that he no longer dressed in the tailored finery of higher class, and was a few shades darker in the face and hands. Perhaps it was simply that she unused to the leaner Dario, but by Riddel's standards he was positively scrawny compared to the well-fed boy she had given her condolences to a year ago. Then again, he no longer had a desolate expression marring the natural light-hearted charm of his features, and black had never really been his color anyways. In fact, despite the turbulence that his life had underwent, judging by his radiant glow and fiery light of his eyes, he was happier than he ever was when he was wealthy.  
  
Riddel mentally slapped herself for describing Dario in such a stupid way.  
  
"Now." She stated, a tinge too firm.  
  
Glenn giggled. "Yes, sir!" He mocked her militant reply. He got a reprimanding shove from Dario, which he retorted to with a whine.  
  
By that time, Karsh had cleared the corner of the house, neatly attired in an unbuttoned uniform shirt (white and washed to transparency) and plain khakis, with the knees worn through. The cloth band that had held his hair in check had been converted to a wristlet, and it seemed as if his mother had caught him and toweled him off. He had a grumpy expression, and his scalp was almost wiry with disarrayed strands. He greeted his fellow juveniles with a complaint:  
  
"Me mam made me take out hair. She said that it would give me a headache otherwise. Whatever that means."  
  
"Like we care." Glenn stated, happily sneaking one of Riddel's front hanging bangs into a special knot that Dario had just taught him to tie. Riddel felt it, but let him, planning to humor him and then trim it off later.  
  
"Well." Riddel said shyly. "It also dries out a lot faster that way. And if you brush it while its wet, it'll look better."  
  
The boys nodded, somewhat indifferent to her beauty tips, but Karsh took enough notice to make a competent reply.  
  
"Thanks. But I'm not a girl, so as long as it doesn't fall out, I'm ok with it."  
  
"Then can I set it on fire?" Glenn asked eagerly. Riddel's gaze swiveled from Karsh to the youngster, unnerved while he babbled his case.  
  
"They're always talking about how fast hair burns off in a fire, right? And I was thinking; Hair's waterproof, why isn't it fireproof? And cotton's really burnable too. But it's soft, and not like hair at all, so why are they both..."  
  
He went on for a few more sentences before Dario had to stifle both a laugh and his little brother by clapping hands over mouths. Karsh groaned, as if Glenn's rambling was just dull, and not somewhat eccentric. Riddel supposed this was how the world worked outside of her sheltered paradise.  
  
"Shall we do something?" Karsh inquired dully, as if it were not at all interesting listening to a five year old plot arson upon his head.  
  
"The balloons!" Glenn jumped up, panicked for having abandoned his arsenal for so long. (Although Dario and Karsh never had the opportunity to tamper with his stash.)  
  
"Oh come on, Glenn." Dario pleaded bracingly, attempting to haul him back onto the steps. "Riddel's here, and she can't play water fights with us." He gave a very courteous inclination of the head in her direction, which made her flush.  
  
"Aw, c'mon!" Glenn protested. "She can too. Why wouldn't she? You do want to, right Riddel?"  
  
"Oh ye-" she began before Karsh cut her off.  
  
"No way! Her clothes would get ruined, wouldn't they?"  
  
Glenn crossed his eyes at Riddel's dress and blouse, making her blink blearily at her naked feet.  
  
"So what?" He snapped back argumentatively, after a moment's silent observation of the female. "She's rich, and those don't even look like her good clothes. I think she dressed up to look poor, like us."  
  
They were rightfully scandalized. Riddel felt her thoughts imploding and knew she was going to blank out and humiliate herself.  
  
"Glenn." Dario finally uttered, barely audible. "You don't say things like that."  
  
"Isn't it true?" Glenn inquired pleasantly.  
  
"N-n" the denial stuck in her throat as a burning sensation invaded the space between Riddel's eyes.  
  
"Never mind." She said softly. She lifted her head, eyes blazing. "Let's play!"  
  
Glenn cheered and dashed to the back, where the balloons were.  
  
"Glenn! You're on my team!" Dario yelled, speeding after him. Riddel fidgeted, disappointed. She had hoped Dario would team up with her... want to shield her from being targeted. But she surmised he wanted to keep an eye on the precocious youngster, especially since there was a female in the vicinity.  
  
She sighed. It was something. At least he was mannerly.  
  
Riddel and Karsh both got up more slowly, with Riddel grimly tucking her skirt higher up and stuffing her long hair down the back of her collar. Most unusually though, she felt a hand slip into her own.  
  
"Hi. I'm Karsh" Karsh said gently. "Why don't you be on my team?"  
  
"Oh . . . sure. I'm . . . well, you know who I am. " Riddel said back a bit flustered. She wobbled their hands, thinking that he wanted to shake hers for their introduction. For some reason startled by the movement, he released hers and it ended up lightly smacking the railing. Bewildered, Riddel withdrew, thinking to follow Dario and Glenn to the back.  
  
Karsh blushed.  
  
"Oh, uh, sorry . . . I didn't mean. . ." he trailed off nervously.  
  
"It's alright." Riddel laid her fingers on his wrist, deciding it must be a peasant thing. He flushed just as she turned away to grab her shoes, the footwear an afterthought after the conversation.  
  
She spent the rest of the afternoon with the boys, toiling as she stumbled about with armloads of ammo, unloading them, and infiltrating the enemy's/brother's territory. When darkness fell, Karsh's mother invited her to stay, saying that her husband would leave for the manor on business tomorrow and tell them to pick her up.  
  
She spent many a day in the same manner, from there on. . .  
  
*** Mmm. Yes, it's finally up. Now to attend to everything else...  
  
It's been so long since I've had a genuine interest in CC. . . nowadays I'm mooning over KH. But I'm glad I still had the motivation to post this. . . to clear a few things up, this probably should be the direct sequel to Kid's Games. It's doesn't have to be, though, so I didn't mention any parts of it. And somewhere along the way I figured that Dario lost the family fortune and had to be fostered by Karsh's folks. . . probably dishonest relatives or something. Agh... I so miss the good old days. Here, Riddel is just around 9, Karsh and Dario 13, and Glenn 5.  
  
Yes, review, and look for the next installment.(If I can find the thing...) 


End file.
